


Time to Climb

by thinkwritexpress



Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, SPN Kink Bingo 2020, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26995732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkwritexpress/pseuds/thinkwritexpress
Summary: Please, you just want to climb the man like a tree.
Relationships: Sam Winchester/Reader
Series: Kinktober 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1951900
Kudos: 15
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020





	Time to Climb

**Author's Note:**

> Square filled: Size Difference  
> Ship: Sam Winchester x reader  
> Rating: T for dirty thoughts!  
> Tags/warnings: Dirty thoughts!  
> Word count: 901  
> created for @spnkinkbingo

When the giant man walks into your bar, you can feel your entire body heat up. Looking him up and down, from his long locks, his soft lips, all the way to his long legs, you just -  _ mmm _ does he look handsome. 

You shake yourself from your reverie and smile at the man - and his companion, who’s almost as tall but not quite - and ask for their order, the perfect bartender, the perfect host. The Tall Man’s eyes stay on you as well - you can feel the heat of his stare - and you have to repress a shiver at the intensity. 

They give you their order and you deliver it to the kitchen, pouring their drinks and handing them off, then are swept away by the other bar patrons and your staff, all demanding your attention; luckily, your backup bartender is in house, and can help cover. You don’t get to help the two men for the rest of the night, as busy as you are, but you can still feel his gaze, and when they leave shortly before closing, your backup hands you a note with raised eyebrows - there’s a $50 bill underneath the name “Sam Winchester” written in something only slightly more legible than chicken scratch. With a rueful grin, you shove the notes into your back pocket and go about cleaning up, calling “last call!” and making sure to kick patrons out if they’re too rowdy or staying too late.

You forget about the note until two nights later, when you’re slipping into the jeans from earlier this week, rushing to the bar for your shift, and find it in your pocket after stuffing your phone inside as well. 

_ Sam Winchester _ . 

Even his name sounds appropriate, a Winchester gun ready to fire - you wonder if he’d be a hotshot in bed, but push that thought aside, not wanting to fluster yourself more before work.

As though your thinking about him is magic, the man and his companion show up a few hours after you start, coming straight to the bar. It might just be the lights, but his eyes seem to dance when his gaze meets yours.

When you look up at him, you practically have to crane your neck. His hands wrap around the beer bottle and they’re  _ huge _ \- they look a little calloused too, and you want them against your skin. His arms look thick, muscular and defined underneath his layers of flannel, and you wonder if he can manhandle you the way you’ve dreamed.

Part of you feels guilty for thinking such dirty thoughts about a stranger, but then you remember you have his name, so he should definitely have yours. 

Of course, as soon as you make the decision to introduce yourself, you’re swept away by needy customers, and it takes you probably an hour before you can free yourself enough to stop by where he’s seated; even luckier for your, his companion seems to be off flirting with a pack of bridesmaids.

“So, you’re Sam Winchester. Nice to meet you. I’m (Y/N), owner of this fine establishment.” You hold your hand out to shake, and Sam reciprocates.  _ Damn _ do his hands feel good dwarfing your own. 

“Nice to meet you too. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since we came in the other day, and I’m hoping I made at least a bit of an impression?” He looks a little self-conscious then, unsure, and you grin at him, nodding.

“You definitely made one hell of an impression, Sam. Not often we get men like you in here.” 

“Men like me?” A raised eyebrow, a challenge.

“Handsome, tall as a tree, fit as a fiddle - looks like someone who could handle a spitfire in bed and give as good as he gets.” You have half a mind to not flirt with a stranger, but it’s been too long, and you’re feeling flames all over your body as you stare up at the man. 

“Well, you’re definitely right about that - I’m just waiting to find myself the right spitfire.” He winks, and the game is on.

“I’ll volunteer as tribute. Shift’s over in an hour. Think you can ditch your buddy?”

Sam glances at his friend and laughs, nodding. “I’ll be waiting. He’s fine to find his own ride.” 

Your last hour goes by in a blink and you don’t stay to listen to anyone’s chatter or complaints, eyes trained on Sam, who waits for you at the bar. 

Grabbing his hand, you practically drag him out of the building, stopping in the parking lot. “My place or yours? You driving or am I?” 

“I’m just up in a hotel, so that’s up to you. I have a set of keys so I can drive. My brother’s car’s nice.” 

“Hotel it is. Lead the way, tree man.”

“Tree man?” Sam chuckles, and you grin right back at him, giving a wink.

“Listen handsome, you’re tall as fuck, I will be climbing you like a tree by the end of tonight. Therefore, tree man.” 

Sam laughs louder, but nods like it makes sense, and leads you to a sleek black Impala. He opens the door for you like a gallant gentleman, and you step on the car’s edge and sneak a kiss before settling into the seat, a smirk plastered across your face. Tonight’s looking to be one hell of a time.


End file.
